I doubt that the Girls make it out to be the deal it’s been for me over the years. It just isn’t Easter without the egg hunt. There was the year of the antique egg. One of our participants harvested one that wasn’t part of the year’s collection. The color scheme didn’t match anything that was on hand. I wonder just how long that egg waited undisturbed in its hiding place. Another year, my nephew pilfered the contents of his basket while our backs were turned. I have never seen anyone ever get so extremely sick from devouring copious amounts of chocolate.
There was a season when the clan found ourselves up in the hills, going right at the ‘Y’ and through the gate into the ranch. Those days set the bar in which I judged all other days at the property. There is a snow day that is in the running. It seems that once every ten years or so we see snow lookin’ out our back doors. It had collected quite well in those hills and made one hill quite inviting for a climb. The transportation got tired of waiting and with a honk was departing. We started a beeline down the hill to overtake our ride.
A downhill run is never a good idea. Can’t figure how it made any better sense in the snow. The short of it is that Sister did a face plant that day that was rather unfeasible to save face from. There was, fortunately, no physical injury, thank goodness. It would have been a long trip to the doctor. The saving grace is the hysterical stitches that childhood memory puts us in to this day.
Sunshine, fresh air, and greener pastures are the memories of Easter in the hills. There were many a good location to pick and park and throw out the table and chairs on those gradually warming spring days. Winter’s rain always added color and a pleasant sprinkling of wildflowers. My mind treasures up picturesque panoramas with majestic oaks. And there will always be family and friends. Certainly, a quick glimpse into heaven! Then there is that incident of the soaring three-wheeler that will have to wait for another day.
But Easter certainly didn’t wait this week during ‘the pause.’ This should inspire some contemplation. What is of real importance? Our agency, the right to choose is one of the few things that we can call our own. I have been told from time to time to choose my battles wisely. This year will not be remembered solely for not doing Easter with my Church family or for choosing to practice a bit of patience and shelter in my home. Freedoms have been lost slowly one at a time in my lifetime and in recent weeks very quickly. Liberty can only be given away. I don’t plan on giving up on Easter any time soon. It elicits sunshine, fresh air, and eternal hope. One specific Easter morning, as promised, the tomb was empty!
■ Scott Arens is a resident of Arbuckle. Contact Scott at email@example.com